Ring More Often
by kellywithjustay
Summary: The Events of January 29 from the perspective of Mummy Holmes. (May be the first in a series in her perspective depending on interest. My first ever story here. Feedback welcome)


Violet Holmes stared out her kitchen window at the fallow garden and considered what vegetable should go in this Spring. In her mind she could visualize the need lines of peas and beans, cabbages and lettuces, and root vegetables. She could really be using the greenhouse, but it needed repairs and to be cleaned out and she reallyt didn't have the energy for that. Perhaps she could add it to Siger's Honey-do list. Keep him out of the house for a while, to stop his endless puttering. Violet poured herself a coffee and took the washing up rag to wipe the counters. From across the room her mobile phone rang. Sh dried her hands on the nearest dish towel and hurried to answer. She slid her glasses back into place on her nose from where they were perched in her hair. It was on the fourth ring by the time she had stabbed her finger at the answer icon on the screen.

"Myc!" she thrilled, upon answering, "to what do I owe the privilege?"

"Good morning mummy," Mycroft replied with just the tiniest huff of a sigh. Violet could clearly see him rolling his eyes, and chuckled to herself as she raised her freshly poured coffee to her lips to gently blow against the surface. "I hardly think you'll think it's a privilege once I have related my news.

Violet set her mug of coffee back down to the counter top and found herself slipping down onto the kitchen chair, bracing herself.

"What's he done?" she asked.

"He's been evicted." Mycroft replied.

"Oh Sherlock," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. Her youngest son was the source of constant worry. Still, eviction was hardly the worst thing he had faced this year. "It wasn't the … narcotics again, was it?"

"No," Mycroft assured, "As far as I can tell he has been clean since his release. No, I am afraid he was behind on rent, and when the landlord came to inquire, found his living area … hazardous."

"Why is he behind on his rent? Hasn't he been working for that… what's his name at the NSY?" Violet asked, taking a sip of her coffee, and deciding it needs more sugar. She spooned in another scoop.

"Gregory Lestrade, and yes, though not as many cases as he'd like. He can be recalcitrant."

"Yes. I know." She muttered, silver spoon chiming quietly against the porcelain.

"But that's not why he was behind- my guess is that he couldn't be deigned to bother writing the cheque- you know how he gets; fits of ennui, spending days in his mind palace…"

Violet tapped her fingers on the table and shook her head.

"What's to be done?"

"He'll manage, I'm sure." Mycroft assured, unconvincingly.

"Perhaps it's time we unfreeze his trust fund- It has been almost a year."

"He doesn't want your money, mummy, you know that. No, I don't think you have to worry about Sherlock. He visited Martha Hudson yesterday afternoon- you remember her case?"

"In Chicago?"

"Flordia."

"Oh."

"She's got a 'For Let' sign up in her upstairs window of Baker Street. The previous tenant had to move- quite suddenly." Mycroft said rather smugly.

"You didn't!" Violet accused, and was met with a telling silence. "You know he doesn't like you interfering. Honestly Mycroft, you'll drive the wedge between you even further! You've recovered this information with subterfuge and all your little cameras haven't you?"

"I'm only- You wanted me to watch out for him. He won't answer my calls."

"Oh, Myc, I meant I want you to talk to him- bridge the gap. Make an effort. "

Mycroft inhaled deeply on the other end of the phone and held it for a count.

"Yes."

"I know he is difficult, but he's your brother. I hate to see you two at odds."

Mycroft then changed the subject to Father's health, their local parish fundraiser, and their upcoming trip to the Netherlands. Violet appreciated his efforts at small talk, but knew he was anxious to be back to work, so she let him go with an air kiss and cheerful goodbye.

It was a longshot but Violet only took a second to consider it before scrolling to Sherlock's name on her phone and clicking "call". It rang several times, and then went to Voicemail.

"You've reached Sherlock Holmes- leave a brief message. Don't be boring."

Instead of leaving a message she called back.

Let it ring. Once. Twice …

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock dear, you needn't answer that way for your own mother. I know it's you."

An exaggerated sigh and then, "Mummy."

"It's been an age since you last called," Violet complained, "Are you busy?"

"Extremely."

Violet listened, from the pace of his footfalls he was striding quickly, so he might not be lying.

"Well, then I won't keep you long," Violent trilled, ignoring his surly "hurumph" sound. "You on a case, then?"

"Obviously."

"William!" she said warningly, "there is no need to be rude. I am taking an interest."

"Sorry," he muttered, almost inaudibly.

"Now, to business; I hear you are looking for a new flat."

There was a groan on the other end that sounded a lot like her eldest son's name.

"And I just wanted to say that if you needed a place to lay your head for a while, you're always welcomed to come back home. I know you were just here on your birthday, but your father would be keen to have the company. He's bored, love. Retirement doesn't suit him- I've a mind to send him back to work just to keep him out of my hair."

"I've got a new flat lined up."

Violent noticed he had stopped walking. At least, resigned to finish the conversation.

"You know, I was just thinking, maybe you could go in on a flat-share. It would be nice to have someone to help with the rent wouldn't it?"

"I don't need a flat mate." Sherlock sniped. His voice was echoing, violet noticed, probably in a long hallway- from the echo she would guess the tile was lino. Not NSY- it was eerily quiet. NSY would be bustling and she'd overhear conversation. Somewhere else then.

"No, of course not, but it would be nice."

"Doubtful."

She heard a heavy door swing open and click shut. He was probably in that lab he always went to, at St. Barts.

"You could use a little more human interaction, dear. You know, with living people."

". I see plenty of living people- all the time in fact. They're boring. I don't want a flat mate; it would interfere with my work. Besides even if I managed to find someone desperate enough to live with me, it wouldn't last more than a week."

"Erm…I'm going to lunch," a man's voice in the background said, awkwardly, as though imposing, "Lab's unlocked."

"Thank you Mike," Sherlock muttered in response, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. So then, Mike had happened upon him and overheard Sherlock's self-deprecating remarks. He was quiet for a few moments while the same heavy door clicked shut again. "I've got to go mummy, there is no reception in the lab."

"Alright dear, good luck with the case. Do let me know when you have your new mailing address. I'd like to send you a postcard from the Netherlands when daddy and I go."

"I'm sure Mycroft will know before I do."

"Even so, ring when you have it, or text. I know it's like bamboo shoots under your nailbeds to speak on the phone. You behave yourself in this new flat, young man."

"I will."

"Bye love."

Violet sighed. Parenting was supposed to be easier once they left the nest.


End file.
